


The Living And The Dead (Tronnor AU)

by WindowsDown22



Category: tronnor - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Tronnor, Troyesivan, connorfranta, possiblesmut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5076934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindowsDown22/pseuds/WindowsDown22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troye Sivan Mellet is different from everyone else, something that he likes to embrace. Meeting Connor Franta takes him on a whirlwind of an adventure, where he finds out that perhaps being different isn't always such a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're not robots

The Living And The Dead  
Chapter 1  
We’re not robots  
_________________________________________________________________________________

On the first day of a new school, most people try to blend in, an attempt to not attract any unwanted scrutiny, from their fellow peers. Their hopes consist of finding a group of people, who might accept them into their friend circle, so they don’t have to worry about being alone for the rest of their school existence. 

I-Troye Sivan Mellet, have other ideas. 

I bounce down the school hallway, my appearance drawing the attention of every teenager within a hundred mile radius. Shiny platform shoes, rainbow pinstriped jeans with holes in the knees, accompanied by a black crop top showing off my tiny, pale midriff. I have everyone’s eyes on me. 

Preppy girls whisper behind their hands, as if their sleek, manicured fingers hide their condescending giggles. Jocks with arms and legs as thick as tree trunks look on, contempt splayed across their faces, noses scrunched up with nothing but disdain as I pass them by. Yet with all of the commotion simply brought about by my exterior, I flounce onward without a care in the world, smirk never leaving my face. 

You see, I’m not like most teenagers. They’re always so afraid to reveal their true nature, fearful to go against what society deems the norm. I couldn’t care less about any of this though. I’m comfortable in my skin like a fat cat is when lazing in the sun on a warm afternoon. Realising all of this at such a young age really helped me through a lot in my short lifespan. I am very different to say the least, in the most unconventional of ways. But I am grateful that I find my difference endearing; something to be proud of, instead of hiding it away to be a part of societies clones that I can tell already reside within this school. But there is more to all of this-more to me, than meets the eye. We’ll get to all of that later though, shall we?

I come to a stop at my locker, opening it with a flick of my perfectly polished hand. My nails are painted a bright purple, opposed to the glossy green they were mere days ago. As I begin to load all my books into the small space, the locker beside me clangs open. My sparkling blue eyes turn to the right to see a tall, blonde boy; thick rimmed glasses perched on the end of his button nose. He’s kind of cute in a vague way. Up close I notice his attractiveness, but he’d never stand out to me in a crowd.

“Hello there,” I chirp, extending my long arm out in wait. My gaze doesn’t falter as I wait for a response. Instead I just get wide eyes scanning me up and down, mouth agape like a fish out of water. After a few moments of awkward silence, the boy’s lips move to stutter out an introduction.

“H-Hi, my name is, well, ah, Caspar. C-Caspar-Lee,” timidly Caspar grasps my hand, slightly shaking it before quickly pulling away like a burst of electricity had shot through him. 

“Thank you Caspar-Lee for your kind introduction,” I say unfazed by his actions. “I am glad to have you inhabiting my neighbouring locker. Hopefully we can become the best of friends.” 

Caspar clearly doesn’t know what to say, his mind already made up about me. He thinks I’m strange, being so quick to judge a characteristic of most humans. The corners of his mouth turn up into an forced grin before he looks away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose for them to only fall back to their original resting spot. He most likely hopes I won’t press him further, as he hurriedly gathers everything he needs for his classes.

I simply smile, nodding my head, turning back to unload the tonnes of books from my bag, leaving Caspar to make the next move in the conversation if he desires to do so. 

I don’t know what makes me turn around. Now, I feel like the answers is that I knew I was about to catch the eye of the love of my life. At that time however, it’s the tingling sensation that starts from the top of my spine, making its way downward before spreading to my extremities, causing my breath to catch in my throat. Regardless of the reasoning, I turn to see the most depressing sight I’ve ever seen. 

A slender boy, mousey brown hair strewn messily atop his head, walks down the hall towards me. He’s hunched over, shoulders drooped like a wilting flower, his eyes cast downward never looking up from the tiled floor. He’s getting knocked about by the throngs of students like a pinball in a pinball machine, flinching every time someone comes into contact with him. What I find strangest of all is the fact that even though it’s hot out, the boy is dressed in black jeans, a long sleeved sweatshirt and the most out of place item of clothing-gloves.

“T-That’s Connor Franta,” Caspar squeaks. My lips purse together, glancing back towards the blond boy, wanting to know more.

“I would stay away from him if I were you.”

I have never paid mind to what others think, so I don’t take note of Caspar’s warning, replying, “Why would I do that?”

“He’s well-he’s not...He’s troubled,” I stare at Caspar expectantly, waiting for more of an explanation. Caspar sighs. “Just stay away from him,” at this Caspar turns on his heel and slinks away.

I barely notice though, my eyes fixed upon mysterious boy now known as Connor Franta.

...

I follow a few students who keep glancing back at me peculiarly. One of them won’t look away, eventually stumbling over his feet. I giggle, giving him a friendly wave before passing them by, the group staring on oh so subtly. I enter my English class, taking a seat in the very front row. I’ve always been very curious when it comes to learning, wanting to take in the vast amount of knowledge that each new teacher has to offer. Yet as I sit in wait-students nattering away about nothing of importance, my mind strays back to earlier that morning. 

Connor Franta.

I had watched on after Caspar had left. Connor had hastily gathered his book, before quickly scampering away, scuttling by like a mouse on the run. 

It makes me wonder about Caspar’s words of advice. 

Stay away. 

He’s troubled. 

Just stay away.

I can’t focus throughout much of the class. My long, dainty fingers keep tapping against the desk along to the never-ending beat that thrums in my head. On the odd occasion I hum tunes I’ve written without even thinking about it. This is something I do quite often, unknowingly annoying most of those around me. It was why I found myself in trouble quite a lot with the teachers at my old school, as I would be unintentionally distracting the other students.

“Mister Mellet. Mister Mellet!” I’m interrupted from my daze, as I look up to see a woman with flaming red hair, messily done up in a bun, towering over me. I don’t remember the teacher even entering the classroom so I can’t quite comprehend why her lips are pressed together angrily.

“I’ve asked you to write in silence and your humming and tapping is rather disruptive, so if you wouldn’t mind?” 

“Oh, I’m oh so sorry. Sometimes when I’ve got a beat stuck inside of me, I simply can’t contain it. You can’t help but let it out, if you know what I mean. Now what exactly are we supposedly writing about? I can’t say I quite remember due to my jumbled thoughts at this present time-“

“Mister Mellet,” The teachers lets out an exasperated sigh. She attempts to stop me from rambling on, but I’ve never been good at taking hints.

“If you could simply jog my memory I would be quite appreciative-”

The class begin to mutter under their breath, the sound like a chorus of buzzing bees, yet I continue to babble on, the words unstoppable now coming out of my mouth like vomit. The teacher finally holds up her hand to stop me mid-sentence, this accompanied by the loud boom of “Mister Mellet!” I stop talking at this; eye-brows furrowed together, confusion written across my face.

“This may be your first day here, but I do not tolerate this kind of behaviour. Being disruptive, not listening to instructions and keeping the rest of the class from their work. I’ll let this slide this once, but for future reference pay attention. What I’ve ask you to do is written on the board,” the teacher finishes, trotting back to her desk , the sound of her heels clicking against the floor like a bullet against the deafening silence. 

I look around at the class as they begin to whisper. I pick up my pencil, putting it to paper as I try not to listen. Yet there are certain words that stick out to me. 

So strange! 

Weirdo! 

Freak!

I don’t let this get me down though. I push onward, my lips still happily curled upwards. After a few minutes things begin to die down, until the door creaks open slowly, almost inaudibly as if the person behind it wishes to enter without being noticed. I realise why this might be when the person slips through the door and quickly rushes to grab the only available seat, right next to me.

It is obvious to anyone that Connor is shyer than most. The way the he behaves, always looking like he’d rather be miles away from the slightest of human contact, than holed up in a school where human contact is all that you get. Even sitting next to me right now, his body gravitates away, trying to get as much distance between us as possible. In fact, he seems scared at the mere thought of being so close to others. I wonder why he is late for class, but no one seems to question this so I let it slide.

As I watch him I feel my heart begin to race, my palms sweating like the classroom has been transformed into a sauna. The effect Connor is having on me is not something I’m used to. Yet here I am with a dire need for answers, but having no idea where to begin. So I settle for quiet, sneaking subtle glances at the boy next to me every when I get the chance.

Connor continues to lean away from me, now sitting on the extreme edge of his seat. It’s as if my presence leaves a bad taste in his mouth. I wonder if I smell bad, so I give myself an inconspicuous sniff. I smell like my favourite scent of cologne, an innocent enough aroma. Obviously Connor disagrees though, as he is now dangerously close to falling of his chair.

The scraping of the chairs against the floor bring me back to my senses, looking around to see the class is beginning to filter out of the room. The teacher sits at her desk, her eyes never leaving me as I gather my stuff together. I don’t want to have enemies, especially on my first day but I guess I’ll have to deal with this later. Right now I my brain can only muster up thoughts relating to the brown haired beauty I’m positioned next to.

Connor hasn’t moved from his seat, as he waits. I’m assuming he wants to avoid the wave of people moving all at once, in hurry to get the school day over with.

“I don’t like birds,” I blurt out. “I know it is a rather irrational fear, but I find them rather petrifying.”

Connors back stiffens as he turns to slowly look at me. It’s the first time I get a clear view of his face, and I’m surprised by what I see. His face is gaunt, eyes sunken back into their sockets. Dark, half-mooned bags rest underneath them, and his lips are chapped, the indentations like cracks running along an otherwise unblemished paved sidewalk. Albeit this, his face is absurdly handsome to me, a somewhat flawed form of perfection that has my mouth watering at the sheer sight.

“Are you afraid of people? Is that why you were sitting so far away from me through the entirety of the class? Do you know Caspar-Lee? He thinks you’re troubled. Is that why he thinks that...because you’re afraid of people?”

“Boys, it’s time to go to your next class,” the teacher says in a firm tone. I look at her for an instance, only to turn back to see Connor dashing out of the classroom.

Had I come off to strong? I know I have a tendency towards this, and it makes me upset I had made him uncomfortable. I put away my books and pencils, leaving the class, my eyes finding Connor on their own accord. He is further down the hall, head down, attempting to merge into the crowd so that no one will notice him. 

I’ve already deemed him unlike all other teenagers. He isn’t another robot ready to do whatever they’re told. He’s like me, an ugly duckling amongst a bunch of swans. But what is it about Connor Franta that has me feeling this way? My lips curl up into a somewhat predatory smile for I know that I can’t wait to figure it out.  
__________________________________________________________________________________

If you’re reading this, then welcome to a new Tronnor AU Fic. This really isn’t going to be your typical romance story, if that is what the first chapter has you thinking. Remember, there is more to Troye than meets the eye, and the same goes for Connor. I hope your enjoying this, and hopefully I’ll have another chapter for you soon.

I've also posted this up over on Wattpad if you'd rather read it there.

I really am hoping to get to the point where I feel like my writing is actually really good, so if you have any constructive criticism I’d be more than happy to hear it.

Also follow me on Twitter. I am total Tronnor Trash and I love it. @windowsdown22

Thanks guys,

ttfn


	2. Mine and his story

The Living And The Dead

Chapter 2

Mine and his story  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
A/N: The first part of this is meant to be in italics as it is a dream, but for some reason AO3 isn't letting me do this, so just imagine it is in italics thanks.

It is warm out. My siblings are running around the backyard, heads thrown back as gleeful giggles escape their lips. They’re so young and full of life, that their cackles send a delightful sense of despair running down my spine. It’s as if they’re happiness is their way of taunting me; to remind me that I am not like them. I sit off to the sidelines as my brother and sister play. My sister Sage, with her beauty and grace, prances through the air like a delicate fairy, whilst my brother Tyde chases after her waddling around as he’s still slightly unsteady on his feet. They’re your average children, fooling around on a sunny weekend day. 

I watch on, wishing I have their confidence. Even at the age of seven I find myself uncomfortable in my body. It’s a sad trait to have at such a young age, but it’s as if the feeling is engrained in my mind. I hear it from my peers at school, the media; even my family does it sub-consciously. You have to be a certain way to be considered normal. I sometimes wonder, what really defines normal anyway? I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer to this question.

It happens so fast. I blink one second and the next Sage has let out a screech, flailing as she disappears with the sound of clunk accompanied by a loud splash!

“Sagey!” I call out, wondering over to the pool. Our parents sometimes let us in when they’re around to protect us. I am able to swim by myself with floaties, but Sage and Tyde are too young. They need our parents around to hold on to them. 

My mum went inside a few minutes ago, to grab us all some lemonade. She likes to freshly squeeze the lemons to make the drink herself, but said she’d only be five minutes at the most. So I am afraid that Sage is in the pool without my mum’s presence. When I get to the pool my heart drops into my stomach.

I look down to see Sage thrashing about, as she tries to push herself up in desperate need of taking a breath. Blood is spreading through the water like wildfire, coming from a wound on her head.   
Tyde is by the pool crying, wailing so loudly I feel like my ear-drums are going to burst. That is what must alert my mother. She runs out to the pool, letting out a terrifying, blood-curdling scream. I can’t tear my eyes away from Sage though; her body now limp, almost lifeless. 

I can’t move. I can’t feel. I can’t breathe. 

My mother is in the pool, dragging Sage out with all her strength. They’re now on the edge, my mother trying her best to give CPR, even though she has never been trained to do so. I find myself moving towards my Sisters body, tears streaming down my face. I don’t know what to do, my hands shaking so horribly, my stomach twisting painfully like someone has reached down my throat and is messing about with my insides. 

I fall next to Sage, my mother panting from exhaustion. 

“Come on,” she keeps muttering to herself over and over, as she leans down covering Sages’ mouth with her own. She lets out a long breath trying to give life back to Sage; life that is slowly falling from her grasp. 

I have never seen someone look the way Sage does now. Blood is everywhere. I can smell the metallic flavour of it as it encompasses the air, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to rid my mind from the stench of the liquid that runs from sister’s body. It mars her unblemished skin, yet through the seeping red, I can see how pale she is. Any colour that once stained her cheeks has been drained away leaving her looking like a ghost. And her lips, usually so plump and shiny, now tainted by a sickly blue. 

My mum stops to gain her own breath, her stuttered pants causing me to panic. I don’t want her to stop. I don’t want her to give up. But my mother falls on top of Sages’ body collapsing in a fit a heart-wrenching sobs. Tyde is still howling in the background. I want him to shut up. I want everyone to shut up. I just want this all to stop!

All noise suddenly disperses, allowing relief to flood through my system. This relief is short lived as everything then goes blank around me. My eyes are now trained upon my sister, my sole, entire focus on her unconscious form.

I reach out without even thinking about it, my hands now steady. I don’t know why, but I know that this will work. That everything is going to be okay. I brush back a wet strand of her hair, my palm moving to rest flat on her forehead. She is cold to the touch, like I have clasped onto a shard of ice. It starts as a small jolt, and then a spark ignites from deep within. I feel the power being pulled from me, making me feel like I’m floating.

And then...

Sage gasps, her eyes flinging open forcefully. The colour begins to return to her cheeks, her chest now moving up and down to signal she is in fact breathing. My mum pulls her up into a bone-crushing hug, muttering thanks to no one in particular, in between her shuddering breaths.

Sages’ eyes connect with mine. She can feel it to. 

I awake with a start.

 

...

Tantalising green eyes haunt my every waking moment. 

I go to school the next day this time dressed in a baggy, white sweater that hangs off my skinny body. I pair it together with a lengthy, sparkly pink skirt. It flows behind me as I walk, making me feel like a pretty princess. 

My eyes are drawn to Connor, finding him amongst the mass of students instantaneously. My thoughts drift, thinking that I might actually be good at the where’s Waldo books, if the characters look anything like Connor. 

“You’re just looking for trouble.”

I realise I am somehow at my locker, my attention having obviously been elsewhere. I see Caspar before me, one of his eyebrows raised as he looks between Connor and me.

“What do you mean by this? I do not like trouble. I think more about positivity, happiness and being colourful because being colourful makes you more radiant I think, don’t you-“

I stop upon hearing Caspar scoff, slamming his locker shut before sauntering away getting lost amongst the crowd. I can only shrug for if he doesn’t want to talk me, I am not going to force him. I find Connor again, watching him and his every movement. 

“This is getting slightly creepy,” I mutter to myself, but when Connors eyes find mine, widening before quickly finding the floor once more, I can’t help but want to know every little detail about his life story. 

The shrill sound of the bell bounces off the walls, echoing throughout my head. Connor quickly scampers away, without giving me a chance as to so much as approach him. I’ll have to wait until English to see him again. All though the teacher already hates me, this class can’t come fast enough. 

So as you can imagine I am beyond disappointed when Connor doesn’t show. 

The cafeteria is a lonely place for some, and even though I sit on my own, I find that I like the solitary. I haven’t quite found my place yet, but I am sure something-or someone-will come along.

I don’t eat the cafeteria food. Why would I? Everything is so processed and full of ingredients that I don’t know of. I stick to my slices of carrot, celery and cucumber that I brought from home, nibbling at the ends like a hungry rabbit.

Why was he not in class? Why had he not shown up? And where is he now?

“Are you new here?”

I look up to see a boy whose quirky persona rivals that of my own. His bubblegum pink hair looks so soft like candy floss; I want to run my fingers through it just to see if my estimates are right. He looks so free-spirited, his face kind of chubby but it just makes me want to squish it between my hands as I find it cute. I like that his eyes hide a glint of a cheeky sort of rebelliousness, something that I don’t experience often when meeting a person. I feel like this is what I’ve been waiting for since moving here.

“Yes I am new here. I begun school yesterday,” I stick out my hand waiting for him to take it. He does so with a toothy grin, his hands so warm and inviting, albeit his palms being slightly sweaty. 

“Well I was wondering if you would like to sit with us. Our table is just over there,” he points to a table in the corner of the room, occupied by five others. I grab my stuff following him without a second thought. 

As I get closer to the table I take in the appearance of those who I’m about to befriend. There are two girls who sit too close together to be considered simply platonic friends. The one, who is nearest me, has glossy brunette hair that falls to frame her heart-shaped face, her eyebrows perfectly plucked to outline the curve of her clouded brown eyes. With boldly painted red lips and darkly outlined eyes, everything about her screams of typical, plastic, mean girl. Yet when she smiles, I feel nothing but friendliness towards her. The other girl seems more aloof though. Her angular face is cold, slit-like eyes piercing through me like a knife. I wonder why she’s like this, but when the first girls places a delicate hand on her cheek, she blushes a deep red, her features immediately softening. All iciness towards me washes away leaving me a blank canvas which I hope to make a good first impression on.

I turn to look at the two boys who sit on the opposite side of the table. They’re both very similar. All though one of them is of a somewhat bigger build, they both have dark hair that falls flat over their foreheads, with gloomy clothes of a matching colour. Most will judge them before getting to know them. But as I watch them with their sharpies, colouring each other’s faces in with cat whiskers I can tell I’m going to like them. Their giggles hit me, making my heart swell with a desire to have a friendship like theirs.

“That’s Ingrid and Hannah,” the boy with the pink hair, first points to the pretty girl than the more distant of the two. “And that’s Dan,” the larger of the two is introduced, before I come to know the other boy as Phil. “And I’m Tyler.”

“It is so nice to meet all of you. My name is Troye, with an ‘E’ in case you are wondering,” I smile as I sit, hoping my forthcoming demeanour will help these people to like me. “Now may I ask why you two are drawing cat whiskers upon each other?” I can’t help but have a need to know, for this both strange yet very intriguing to me.

“It’s just their thing. Don’t question it,” Tyler leans in and whispers to me. Dan and Phil have barely acknowledged my existence, too consume by each other. I wonder if my suspicions about Ingrid and Hannah should be applied to the two boys as well.

“So Troye, you’re new here?” Ingrid questions.

“Why yes, I just moved from Perth Australia.”

“Have you made any new friends?” I cock my head to the side, my first thoughts returning to Connor.

“Do you know boy who goes by the name of Connor Franta?”

I am not expecting the reactions I get. Tyler’s spoon stops half-way to his mouth, frozen as he slowly turns look at me. Ingird and Hannah’s eyes both widen in what seems like shock, like there is a mass murderer standing behind me. I almost turn to look with the way they are indignantly staring. Dan and Phil’s sharpies drop from their grasps as they take notice of me for the first time.

“C-Connor F-Franta,” Hannah whispers. I nod.

“You should stay away from him. Not a good sort if you know what I mean,” Ingrid clasps onto Hannah’s shoulder in what seems to be a way of comforting her. She appears distressed by their mere mention of Connor, and I have a deep wanting to know why.

“Caspar-Lee pretty much said the same thing. Do you know him? He told me stay away from Connor if I didn’t want any trouble, but Connor doesn’t seem like he could hurt a fly. Is it because he’s afraid of people? I mean, everyone has their fears right? What is it about this boy? I don’t know him very well but I don’t see what all the fuss is.”

I watch the group of friends share a look with each other, and it makes me wonder what it would be like to have friends that you can look at one another and immediately know what everyone is thinking. Hannah breaks eye contact, her gaze dropping to the floor. Ingrid’s grip on her shoulder tightens.

“Connor just has a bit of history is all,” Tyler shrugs his shoulder, returning to his food as if the awkward encounter that just ensued didn’t happen. 

“What kind of history? Can you tell me? I may seem a bit nosy but I don’t get why-“

“He killed one of my best friends.”

Hannah’s sentence leaves a chilling silence lingering in the air. I can smell the hesitation upon Ingrid as she tries her best to comfort her girlfriend, but not knowing exactly how to approach the situation.

“Hannah...Joe died of natural causes. It said so in the newspaper,” Tyler replies bluntly. “And you can’t go around saying stuff like that. I told you, the next thing you’ll know you’ll be in the psyche ward, sharing a room with Connor’s mother.”

I don’t know what to say to this, as my brain, like the sponge it is, soaks in all this new information. Who is this Joe fella? Did Connor really murder him? Why is Connors mother in the psyche ward?

“Y-You weren’t there? You d-don’t know?” Hannah stutters out, before Ingrid is pulling her into a hug, glaring at Tyler like she’s trying to inflict excruciating pain upon him.

It is at this moment that everyone seems to feel a certain green pair of eyes upon them. In unison we all turn to see Connor, standing in the arch of the entrance, watching over us all with nothing but sadness plastered over his face. He quickly turns, leaving the cafeteria before anyone else notices him there.

I want to run after him. I want to find out the truth. 

“Look, Connors just a troubled kid is all, and with what happened to him, I don’t blame him. Now can we all get off this depressing topic and talk about normal things like, oh my gosh, isn’t Marcus Butler looking so hot nowadays...” Tyler begins to ramble on about god knows what. I can’t bring myself to focus upon his words though. It is clear that the conversation of Connor is no longer up for discussion. Hannah and Ingrid are now leaning against each other, sharing the occasional kiss on the cheek. Dan and Phil are back to drawing on themselves. And Tyler is still talking about whoever Marcus Butler is, to no one in particular. But I can’t get Connor out of my head.

The only thing I can bring myself to care about at this present moment...What is the story behind Connor Franta?

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

If you’re reading this, then awsome. I hope you liked the new chapter. Now Connors story will be revealed all too soon, and there will be Tronnor intereaction in the next chapter, don’t worry. But I want to know what you think of the first part of the story in italics. What do you think that means? I hope your enjoying this, and hopefully I’ll have another chapter for you soon.

I've also posted this up over on Wattpad if you'd rather read it there.

I really am hoping to get to the point where I feel like my writing is actually really good, so if you have any constructive criticism I’d be more than happy to hear it.

Also follow me on Twitter. I am total Tronnor Trash and I love it. @TronnorOhWonder

Thanks guys,

ttfn


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